Nine lives english version
by Dark Side of Force
Summary: John can see Sherlock everywhere and think he has nine lives (my old story translated by myself and maybee need beta)


It's better than prompt, but I fierily need English speaking beta *facepalm*

It's cold, and windy, rain mixed with snow, but John dragged stubbornly to the cemetery, stays by the grave.

An hour later, he rummage with cold, stiff fingers in his purse for a doit to take street tray coffee and stumbles upon a coin – hardly a coin, hardly a pendant – a round little thing with the image of the eye seems to be something from Egyptian mythology. It should not occur in the purse of retired military man, unless was stocked in error by the change. The incision of the eye is weird, painfully familiar, "John, your age people shell spend more time dating than stocking in cemeteries" ... coin falls out of his hand, but John stubbornly looking for it in the mess of snow and mud.

Soon he finds himself where snow was not seen since the beginning of time. He vaccinated swarthy children, begin to pay attention to the pretty nurses.

"What is it?" - asks him one night nurse Mary. She lies, pressing her cheek against reliable John's chest, and a coin on a leather cord is in few inches from curious girl's nose.

"The memory of a dead friend", - John can finally say it out loud. But he hasn't any photos of Sherlock. In the difficult decisions time he looks in the only slanting eye. "You shell live," - John heard to the question about this date.

You said that friends protect people. How can I protect you, if I'm on the other side of the globe? I dreamed that I'm actually dead, I'm only shadow, and you pass through me oblivious. I wanted to scream: "Recognize me, please, please, recognize me!" - but I had no voice ...

John wakes up in the snow-white hospital ward. Accidental explosion of mine which left from the recent war, multiple shrapnel wounds, and one of the fragments can be in his heart, if not the happy coin.

The second shell of his old friend stay lying in the foreign reddish dust, and John returned home, and Mary returned with him. While John completing his treatment, they take a small house in the village.

It's cat's own decision, to settle with the Watson couple. He has black tuft sticking hair and grey intent eyes. His battle cry is heard from afar. His skinny body is covered with battle scars and almost solid to the touch, all the muscles. He lets only John pet him, and he demands hoarsely milk during his sudden raids only from John, too, and he always tries to get into master's bed, striving to take it entirely.

The first attempt by Mary and John to make love causes storm of jealousy. Every time they are forced to lock the cat in the closet, and he howls heavily, causing Mary dull irritation.

I dreamed I shield you with myself. But I'm just a shadow, shrapnel pass through me without stopping, without damaging. I can see all too well, and now, without my eyes, I can see without turning my disembodied head, before me, and behind me, and outside me, and inside me, I can see all too well, how the metal rips fabric with a slight rustle, pierces your body, little blood fountains gush and beat rusty road dust, and you're falling, flowing through my powerless hands. It seems for the moment you see me, and I froze in horror: is it really the end?

Cat dies in battle, when the rabid neighbour's dog attacks Mary. He manages to last until the main forces arrived, John, armed with a shovel. Using the same shovel John buries his friend in the front garden. It's time to go back to London.

Watsons come again next spring, Mary needs fresh air, and John is busy, he can't stay too long.

"Take care of her", - he whispers, standing over barely noticeable burial mound. John fills rum, he feels the overgrown pale blue flowers jealously watching from the dark green on a Mary's rounded belly.

I overestimated my role in your world. Life always takes its toll, it would take the last time too, independently of our meeting, and who knows, maybe you would be calm and happy for much longer. The great truth of dreams, I'm just a shadow on the edge of your memory, a vague anxiety, and now, when it's done with the enemies, the reason to not return is much more unbettered ...

He can have son, he even chose a name, but really there was no choice. Bloody boondocks, damn ambulance, fucking blood, don't want to stop!

The house is full of someone else's movement, doctors, government officials, the homeowner, body, waiting to carry, papers, papers, papers ... Body.

John pops out on the porch, he bursts into the front garden, pulling hated blue flowers almost with the roots out, wide step back and put them next to the body ... the body ... He looks at the crumbling pale petals and gagged with his hands to keep a cry of horror.

Will you tell her the same words? Will you ask her to come back? I'm just a shadow on your ashes, I can't decide neither to gain flesh, nor melt away completely.

- Glad to see you, John.


End file.
